Danae’s POV
I pulled a cushion over my face.
“It was a moment of anger.
He accused me of using him.”
“Listen to me carefully.” Eirwen’s voice shifted registers—less friend, more someone carrying information she’d been sitting on.
She waited until I lowered the cushion before continuing.
“In Ashmoon territory, disrespecting a member of the Alpha family has real consequences.
Exile, in some cases.” A beat.
“In extreme cases, execution.”
The word landed like a stone into still water.
“That’s murder,” I said.
“In human law, yes.
In werewolf law, it’s a justified execution.” She leaned forward, forearms on her knees.
“Jorah may find you interesting—I’ve seen how he looks at you, and that isn’t nothing—but he’s also bound by pack law that is older than this country.
You need to understand both of those things simultaneously.”
I stared into the steam rising from my tea.
“As soon as I find a job, I’m leaving this city.”
“I think that’s smart.
At least until things with Galen cool.” She hesitated.
“And until whatever this is with Jorah runs its course.”
“There’s no ‘this’ with Jorah.
One night of bad judgment does not constitute a relationship.”
She gave me the look.
“Tell me more about the Alpha mate thing,” I said, steering us firmly elsewhere.
“You mentioned a tradition.”
Eirwen settled back against the cushions, tucking her feet beneath her.
“An Alpha must accept their fated mate if they find one—it’s considered sacred, non-negotiable.
But if they reach thirty without finding their true mate, they’re permitted to choose a suitable partner instead.”
“And Jorah?” I asked, though I already half-knew the answer from the whispers I’d heard at various Ashmoon events over the years, attached to Galen like decorative information.
“Twenty-nine,” Eirwen confirmed.
“Almost thirty.
Still unmated, which has been driving every eligible wolf in the territory into a frenzy.
His mother has been arranging meetings for years, from what I’ve heard.”
The cold calculation in his face in that hotel room after I’d woken—the immediate assumption, the clipped questions—rearranged itself into something I could almost understand.
A man who had spent years being approached with agendas he couldn’t see clearly, by people who wanted something from his position rather than from him.
Still didn’t excuse it.
“That explains his reaction,” I allowed.
“It doesn’t excuse his behavior.”
“No,” Eirwen agreed.
“But Alphas aren’t built for being challenged by humans.
Particularly not humans who tell them to go—”
My phone buzzed against the cushion.
I picked it up, glanced at the notification—and went very still.
“Oh my God.” I sat up straight, nearly launching my tea off the arm of the couch.
“What?
What is it?” Eirwen craned toward me.
“Horizon Media Group.
Portland.” I scrolled, reading too fast, forcing myself to slow down.
“They want to interview me.
Tomorrow.
Via video call because I’m out of state—Eirwen, they want to interview me—”
I was on my feet before I’d decided to stand, pulling Eirwen up with me, and then I was hugging her, actually bouncing slightly on the balls of my feet, and she was laughing at my enthusiasm and hugging me back, and for the first time in nearly two weeks the hollow space in my chest filled with something that wasn’t fear or grief.
“This is it,” I said, pulling back to look at her.
“Eirwen.
If I get this job—I’m done.
No more werewolves, no more pack politics, no more Jorah’s accusations.
I can start somewhere that doesn’t know my name.”
“Then let’s prepare you,” she said, with the particular focused warmth of someone who means business.
“Operation Escape From Werewolf Drama starts now.”